


Avalanche

by ElectroNerd



Category: Captain America - All Media Types, The Avengers (Marvel) - All Media Types
Genre: Angst, M/M, Not A Happy Ending, Stucky - Freeform, just a fair warning, modern-day AU, post-serum Steve, this may ruin Chevrolet Avalanches for you
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-12-13
Updated: 2015-12-13
Packaged: 2018-05-06 11:32:07
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,476
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5415206
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ElectroNerd/pseuds/ElectroNerd
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Chevy Avalanche. Bucky never expected the truck to mean so much to him, never expected the truck to impact his life the way it had. Of course, it wasn't really the truck itself. It was that silly little game that blond punk made up – Avalanche. It was Steve who hit him so hard.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Avalanche

Bucky thought it was a strange and pointless game at first. Avalanche. “Whenever you see a Chevy Avalanche, you get to punch the other player on the arm.” It was a simple game. Bucky wasn't fond of it at first.

Little did he know, that simple game would become the most important thing to him.

Bucky was five when that four-year-old Steve introduced the game to him. Steve used to play the game with his father, but after the old man died, that poor little blond had no-one to play with.

That is, until Bucky came around.

“Avalanche,” Steve chimed, poking his shoulder with a grin. One pale finger from the other hand pointed at the passing vehicle.

Steve had already explained the rules of the game to him, and then proceeded to explain that they would start with pokes and work their way up to punches, continuing on even though Bucky hadn't muttered a single word.

At first, Bucky had refused to play. It seemed like such a pointless game. Why should he waste his time? After seeing the dejected look on Steve's face, however, Bucky found himself searching for a Chevy Avalanche. Luckily, one happened to pass by at that very moment, and Bucky gently poked Steve's shoulder, muttering out a small, “Avalanche.”

The brightness in Steve's smile rivaled that of the sun.

After that day, “Avalanche” was their game. The duo quickly moved from pokes to jabs to nudges to punches, enjoying the full experience of the game in no time at all. Every time they were in the car together, competition was thick in the air.

Steve won more often than Bucky did; the blond had better eyes, but that didn't mean that Bucky hadn't accumulated his own fair share of victories.

It was perfect. They had their game and it was theirs alone.

Middle school hit like a tsunami. Three years full of raging hormones and plenty of Avalanches. It was sometime during those three years that Steve had started to shy away from their game.

Bucky didn't know why at first, why Steve had suddenly lost all interest in playing their favorite game. Really, he was more focused on the fact that Steve shied away from all physical contact, period. Needless to say, Bucky was worried. He stood a fair distance away from Steve when he asked what the problem was.

They were in middle school. That period of raging hormones. Bucky would have never admitted it – he blamed it on his hormones, of course – but he had developed feelings for his male friend. More than friendly feelings.

And so, when Steve told him the reason why he couldn't stand any physical contact, Bucky felt like the happiest person alive.

Steve liked him, and he liked Steve too. It couldn't have gotten any better. The duo returned to their games of Avalanche, now adding the occasional small, chaste kisses to the given punches.

Bucky was happy.

Steve was happy.

It was all perfect.

Months passed, and the years followed suit. It seemed like it was only yesterday that they were little kids in the back of the car, playing that first game of Avalanche.

Bucky was wistful at times, recalling the past, how he never thought he'd end up here, how much Steve loved to draw (dinosaurs specifically), how curly Steve's hair was when they were in elementary. Steve noticed, there would be those times where Bucky would simply wander around their shared apartment in silent recollection.

Steve never interrupted; during these periods, he too reflected – on the past, the present, the future, anything and everything. He often drew whenever Bucky would get into those reflective times, and the blond never failed to get at least one – or seven – sketches of the thoughtful look on his companion's face.

Steve didn't really take mind of these times; they were a normal thing, they happened a lot, and he had gotten used to them.

One day Bucky had gotten in the car and told Steve he was going to the grocery store. Steve nodded, smiled, told him not to be too long, and that dinner would be ready when he came back.

An hour passed by, and Steve was almost worried, but then remembered that Bucky often bought in bulk, thus it took him a bit longer than it would others. Two hours and dinner was ready. Steve was keeping everything on a low simmer and convincing himself that Bucky was just caught up in traffic, that he was helping some little old lady with her groceries, that Bucky was just fine. Perfectly fine. Three hours and still no word from Bucky. Steve called him, trying to see what the hold-up was, but he heard ringing from the bedroom, and _“Buck, this is the worst time to leave your phone behind.”_ Four hours and dinner was long cold. Just as the panic set in, Steve's phone started ringing, and he groaned because he _knows_ it's not Bucky. He answered anyways, and promptly dropped the phone when the news is delivered.

Steve was rushing to the hospital, taking the car for the chance that, by some miracle, he was able to take Bucky home that day. Bucky was in critical condition. Severe concussion, heavy blood-loss. Steve was panicking throughout the whole drive there, the check-in, and sitting in the waiting room until he was allowed to see Bucky. The blond could only hope against hope and pray to every god he knew that Bucky was okay, that Bucky was _alive_.

It's a few long hours before they finally called Steve in. He was relieved that Bucky was okay – even though the brunet was unconscious, even though he was hooked up to so many machines that it made Steve nervous, Bucky was alive, and Steve almost cried from pure joy.

Once Steve was over the shock, he noticed the glint of the light that was far too close to Bucky's prone body. The glint that obviously didn't belong to any of the machines. Steve's eyes stung after he took a cautious step closer. Bucky's left arm. Bucky's entire left arm was metal.

Steve himself was surprised, and he couldn't even bear to imagine how Bucky would handle the situation.

It was about twelve days – nearly two weeks – before Bucky finally woke up, and Steve _did_ cry, only a few tears when he heard the news. Promptly after, Steve was in the car, driving to the hospital with a grin on his face. The grin fell when he reached Bucky's room.

Bucky had lost his memory – didn't even know his own name. He looked so lost, so sad, so _confused_ , and Steve's heart nearly broke.

They had to stay there for a few more hours, Steve filling out all the paperwork and Bucky simply looking on with a vacant stare.

Another hour later, they were back at the apartment, Bucky looking around with a dazed expression and Steve leaning in the doorway, watching his companion solemnly. It would take a while, but Bucky would remember everything. And so it began.

They started with the essentials – names, certain places, schedules, other things. Steve often left sticky notes around the house, placing little reminders for Bucky in obvious places. Steve would take Bucky around town, too, to see if it would spark any memories. Sometimes it worked, though more often than not, it didn't.

Many more memories were unlocked back at the apartment they shared. Bucky would always wander around the rooms for a while, just like he had before the accident, staring at all the photos and trinkets laying around the place. Sometimes, these would spark memories. Most of the time, though, they didn't.

The days turned to weeks, weeks to months, months to years. Two years, and Steve never gave up. Bucky had tried, but the blond wouldn't let him. It wasn't until the duo was in the car, stopped at a red light, did Steve realize that Bucky had made so much more progress than he thought.

Steve was drumming his fingers against the steering wheel, watching the cars drive by in front of him. This was always the long light. Suddenly, there was a nudge to his shoulder and a faint mutter of a word he hadn't heard in _so long_. Steve grinned as he watched the red Chevy Avalanche pass by.

“Good eye, Buck.”

Bucky smiled, and from then on, there game was at a go once more.

Steve and Bucky always managed to maintain some decorum in the car, holding an air of maturity, but there were the times when they would pass by a Chevrolet car dealership. Steve often came out of these instances with a sore hand and a sore arm, but he never complained. It was their game, and after so long, they were finally playing it again. Steve couldn't ask for anything else.

A year passed, and history was repeating itself.

Steve was wondering why Bucky had suddenly started acting so _nervous_ around him, _all the time_. They lived together, for goodness sake, and Bucky still somehow managed to avoid him. Steve was usually very patient, almost alarmingly so, but certain people wore his patience down extremely quickly.

Bucky was, unfortunately, one of those people.

Steve finally managed to corner the brunet, asking why he was avoiding him, if he had done something wrong.

Bucky had simply shook his head, took a deep breath, and gotten down on one knee. Steve was speechless when those four words came out of Bucky's mouth, when Bucky opened that little black box.

When Bucky finally put that simple silver band on his ring finger, Steve could officially say that he had never been happier.

Time flew as they planned the wedding and sent out all the invitations. It was going to be absolutely wonderful – at least, Steve was sure of that.

Bucky couldn't shake the feeling that something would go wrong. Horribly wrong.

This wasn't what he'd had in mind.

It'd started out as a simple trip to a convenience stop. Steve had wanted to stock up on minty gum and bottled water; it was no use going to some big-name grocery store for something as simple as that.

If Bucky could have gone back in time, he would have told himself that they should go ahead to the nearest Walmart, even if it would have been a waste of gas. Bucky would have traded that little bit of gas without a thought.

Steve was waiting in line at the register and Bucky was off to the side, staring down at a packet of gummi bears and wondering how long it had been his he'd had a gummi _anything_. Metal fingers were just reaching out for the package when there was a bang and a yell and a thud.

He swerved around, trying to assess the situation as quickly as possible, but his brain shut down completely when he saw the man in the black ski mask and the gun and Steve.

Bucky was frozen, only able to stare at his fiancé being held at gunpoint.

“Get down,” the burglar called, and everyone slowly sank to the ground.

Everyone except Steve.

“Get down!” The man was yelling at Steve specifically, now, but the blond didn't even flinch – only stood there, jaw clenched, head held high.

Bucky, stranded by his distance from the action, watched Steve carefully, hoping that maybe the blond would feel his glare and stand down. Of course not, though, because Steve was always stubborn. Bucky noticed the way that Steve's hands were clenching and unclenching, how tense his body was, how his gaze was locked on to the attacker, how he slowly inched forward. Steve was planning to apprehend him.

Bucky desperately wanted to help – he was the only other person standing. If he could make it there in time...

Bucky ducked behind the shelf in front of him, bringing himself close to the ground as he edged closer to the scene. Best not to bring attention to himself, if he were to help Steve.

Steve said something – Bucky didn't catch it, but the way the burglar growled at his fiancé sent chills down his spine and alarm through his nerves. Bucky stood up quickly and started running, but he couldn't even take the first step before a gunshot rang out.

And another.

And another.

Steve was falling to the ground, and the burglar simply stepped around him, approaching the cash register.

Bucky was numb and robotic as he moved to Steve's side, pulling him off the ground and into his lap, applying pressure to the wounds. “God damn it, Steve,” he said, watching helplessly as the blood leaked from between his fingers and spilled down, staining his clothes and forming a puddle on the floor. “God damn it, you fucking idiot.”

Steve let out a breathy chuckle, somehow, through all the pain. “Sorry, Buck.” The blond's face twisted in agony as he continued. “Tried to get the gun... too slow... I guess that's the end of the line for me.”

“Why?” Bucky choked out, and only now did he notice how blurred his vision was, how badly his eyes burned. Steve only shook his head and Bucky let out a ragged breath. “Steve, please, say something. Anything.”

Steve's head lolled to the side, his gaze turning to the window. He watched the cars pass in a blur of colors, and a chuckle escaped him. Weakly, he just barely managed to lift his hand.

There was a soft nudge to Bucky's shoulder and a mutter of “Avalanche” before that hand fell and that heart stopped. Bucky's gaze jerked up just in time to watch the red truck pass by.

“Steve,” Bucky whispered, not bothering to wipe the tears out of his eyes and off his cheeks. “Steve, please.” Bucky shook the limp body in his arms, but to no avail. “Steve,” Bucky sobbed, pressing his forehead to the blond's. “I'm so sorry.”

The funeral came and went, and so did the years following.

Bucky walked into the Chevrolet dealership from the back entrance, putting on his name-tag and moving to stand behind the checkout counter. He took a deep breath.

Just another day at work.

He hadn't been standing there for long before a woman and her son came into the building, followed by an employee.

Bucky's heart lurched in his chest the way it always did whenever he saw someone that was all blonde hair and blue eyes, and he watched that kid for just one second before he turned his attention to the mother and the employee, taking refuge in the brown hair and brown eyes of the two of them.

The woman had wanted to buy an Avalanche, a red one.

Bucky's voice only cracked once as he explained the contracts and the prices.

 

**Author's Note:**

> So, there I was, writing, and all this angst came. You ever just think about what you write and feel bad for what you've done to those poor characters? Well. That's me right now.   
> Undeniably, Stucky is a very easy pairing to write angst for.   
> I do hope I didn't ruin Chevy Avalanches for anyone.  
> Hope you enjoyed!


End file.
